


It's Not Easy Wearing Green

by tanwencooper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Derek is allergic to colour, Established Relationship, Failwolf Friday, Fluff and Crack, M/M, POV Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwencooper/pseuds/tanwencooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gives Derek a new shirt, but the werewolf has reservations about the colour. It turns out that his reluctance is perfectly justified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Easy Wearing Green

**Author's Note:**

> Just thought of this, realised it was Friday, badda boom, badda bing. Just a little silly something.

            “What is this?”

            Derek held up the gift like it was covered in nuclear waste.

            “It’s a shirt,” said Stiles. He sidled up behind Derek on the bed, wrapping his arms around the werewolf’s neck.

            “It’s not right.”

            “When your boyfriend gives you a present you’re supposed to say ‘oh, that’s awesome, thank you so much’. You’re not supposed to go on about how much you hate it.”

            “I don’t hate it,” said Derek, nuzzling back into Stiles’ neck. “It’s just so… so… green.”

            Stiles laughed, kissing him on the top of the head before stepping away and grabbing the bottom of Derek’s shirt. He struggled against it at first, pulling the fabric down and trying to scoot away. Stiles was never one to fight fair though. There was no way that he’d ever beat Derek without cheating. It had been relatively soon in their relationship that Stiles had worked out the exact spot on Derek’s elbow that he needed to lick to render the werewolf completely immobile as he melted into a puddle on the floor. The second that Derek’s arms went limp Stiles wrenched the shirt he was wearing off and threw it out the window.

            Derek sat up, glaring at Stiles. The shirt was beside him on the bed.

            “Was this all an excuse to get me half naked? Because you know you just have to ask, right?”

            Derek spread his legs open, enticing Stiles to come closer and have his wicked way with him. Stiles wasn’t falling for it.

            “I know you think you’re sexy because… well, yeah you are, but do you know what else is sexy? Colours. There’s a whole rainbow of them out there. It’s time the two of you got reintroduced.”

            Derek looked at the shirt. It wasn’t that bad really, considering what Stiles could have chosen. It was a soft, mossy, natural green. Not a lurid acid green that hurt your eyes to look at. It was as good a place to start as any. He rolled his eyes and snatched it off the bed, standing up to put it on. It was a little snug, but knowing Stiles he’d probably bought it too small on purpose so that it would show of Derek’s bulging muscles better. Judging by the gleam in Stiles’ eyes he thought it was doing that just brilliantly.

            “There,” said Derek. “Are you happy now?”

            “Very.”                        

            “Good. Are you going to come over here and help me take it off?”

            Stiles smiled and stepped forward. He ran his hands up and down Derek’s chest, the feeling of his hands moving across the thin fabric making Derek growl deeply in the back of his throat. They collapsed backwards onto the bed. When Derek went to take off the shirt, Stiles stopped him.

            “Oh no,” he said. “Leave it on.”

            Derek left it on. He tried to lose it in the laundry basket when they went to take a shower afterwards, but Stiles was having none of it. When they went down to the kitchen for dinner with the rest of the pack, there was much pointing and laughing until he’d had to ‘alpha’ the lot of them into submission. Their stares and smirks still made him feel awkward though, and he kept scratching at his neck. It was a nervous tick he’d picked up from Stiles. Not that it happened often. He was Derek Hale, alpha of the badass-est pack in all California. He didn’t get nervous.

            It was movie night, so after dinner they all sat down together, curled up with their significant others on the couch, chairs and floor. Stiles settled into his usual place on the big sofa, sprawled against Derek’s chest with their bowl of pop-corn in his lap. The movie started, some action comedy that Isaac had picked out but Derek was finding it hard to concentrate. He couldn’t get comfortable. He kept shifting, twisting, rubbing his back into the corner of the couch to scratch it. There was an itch that he just couldn’t reach without kicking Stiles out of his lap, which he was always loathed to do.

            “Would you stop fidgeting!” said Stiles about half an hour in.

            “I’m not fidgeting,” said Derek, fidgeting.

            “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s like I’m sitting on a cushion made of angry ferrets trying to get out!”

            The others were all turning to look now. They were looking at him, the glow from the TV illuminating his face.

            “Someone get the light,” said Lydia, squinting at him.

            The light flicked on and the whole pack gasped. Derek looked down at his arms, shocked at what he saw. They were covered in thin drips of blood. He looked at where his arm emerged from the shirt to see that his skin was covered in a red scabby rash, criss-crossed with his own claw marks. He hadn’t even realised he’d drawn them. The second that Derek saw the rash it became so unbearably itchy that he started to scratch both arms at the same time and Stiles had to grab his hands to stop him.

            “What even is that?” asked Stile staring at it.

            “I think it’s an allergic reaction,” said Scott.

            “To what?” asked Allison.

            “The shirt, I guess?”

            Derek shrugged Stiles off and tore the thing from his body. His whole torso was red and inflamed, covered in the same rash. The pack recoiled from him in horror.

            “Well that’s not sexy,” said Stiles. “Should we, I dunno, put ice on that or something?”

            Allison went into the kitchen to get Derek a damp cloth. He needed a damp towel. A damp bed sheet. Hell, he needed to just go and roll in mud and then dive into a lake, anything to make the fire covering his skin stop.

            “What caused it?” asked Erica. “The shirt?”

            “Could be the dye they use,” said Lydia picking up the torn rags that was all that was left of the shirt. “This brand is super eco-friendly, uses all natural dyes. I wouldn’t have thought it would hurt a werewolf, but it could be some distant relative of wolf’s bane I suppose.”

            “Oh my God,” said Stiles, having to clamp his hand down over his mouth. “Are you telling me that Derek is actually, genuinely allergic to colour?”

            The pack went silent for a moment, looking to each other to take their cue. When Stiles snorted the rest all went. They laughed so hard that their legs gave way beneath them. They couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Boyd was pounding at the floor from sheer joy.

            “I hate you all,” said Derek and stalked off upstairs to have a cold shower. Preferably with a block of sand paper.


End file.
